Chapter 68 - The Matriarch's Last Hand
The armored luxury carriage at the front of the private freight train was furnished with velvet upholstery, mahogany paneling, and the quiet hum of satellite communications.
Victoria Montgomery sat on an emerald velvet settee, nursing a glass of twenty-year-old scotch. In the corner, sleeping inside a high-tech portable incubator, was the child.
Alistair stood at the forward observation window, watching the dark, pine-covered hills of southern Maine sweep past beneath the cold moonlight.
"The federal authorities have issued a nationwide red notice for you, Victoria," Alistair said without turning around. "The incident at the harbor was extraordinarily clumsy."
Victoria’s hand tightened around her crystal tumbler. "Clumsy? I spent six months cleaning up the mess Julian made! If I hadn't pushed that girl off the yacht in Newport, she would have discovered the shell companies within forty-eight hours of signing the prenuptial agreement!"
"And yet, she survived," Alistair replied, his tone dripping with disdain. "She survived because you are an amateur, Victoria. You enjoy the cruelty of power, but you possess none of its discipline. You left her at the ladder. You should have put two rounds in her skull before she ever touched the water."
Victoria rose to her feet, her voice trembling with barely controlled fury. "I built this empire while you hid in your bunker playing dead! I controlled the board! I maintained the politicians!"
Alistair turned slowly, his cold eyes fixing on her like twin gun barrels.
"You maintained nothing. You were an ornament, Victoria. And ornaments can be replaced."
Alistair signaled with two fingers.
The two private security operatives standing near the forward door raised their weapons—not toward the corridor, but directly at Victoria’s chest.
Victoria froze, her glass slipping from her fingers and shattering on the Persian rug. "Alistair... what is this?"
"The sovereign trust requires only two living signatories," Alistair said calmly, pulling a fountain pen and a set of leather-bound documents from his breast pocket. "The primary trustee—which is now me—and the direct genetic heir. You are no longer necessary to the corporate balance sheet. In fact, your criminal liability makes you a distinct hazard."
"You bastard," Victoria whispered, her aristocratic poise vanishing, replaced by naked, animal terror. "I sacrificed everything for this family!"
"You sacrificed nothing. You consumed," Alistair said. "Lock her in the forward baggage hold. When we reach the cliffs at Cape Elizabeth, she will have an unfortunate accident over the sea wall. It will conclude the narrative nicely: the grieving mother-in-law, overcome with guilt, takes her own life."
"Alistair!" Victoria screamed as the guards seized her arms, dragging her toward the heavy steel bulkhead door. "I’ll kill you! I’ll burn the Citadel to the ground!"
The heavy iron door slammed shut, cutting off her shrieks.
Alistair turned back toward the incubator. He looked down at the sleeping infant, his withered fingers lightly tracing the glass dome.
"Soon, my dear," he murmured. "The empire returns to its rightful architect."
May you like
Suddenly, the train lurched violently. The shriek of emergency air brakes tore through the carriage, throwing Alistair against the mahogany desk as the sound of automatic gunfire erupted from the rear cars.
***
